Burnt Wings & Broken Dreams
by lucytiger
Summary: This is my take on what happens after Sacrifice. The angels have fallen to earth, Cas is human and is trying desperately to reach the Winchesters but the demons found him first, Sam and Dean have to try and save him and figure out where to go from there. There will be humanCas, hurtCastiel, probably some hurtDean because that's too good to pass up. Reviews are love!
1. Angelic Lies & Demonic Promises

_Disclaimer: Don't own any of the boys, would love to own all three!_

{A.N. Hey all, this is going to be an ongoing fic for sure, I absolutely loved the Season 8 finale, thought it closed off just enough plotlines and opened up some really good ones. Considering how much the show's canon is starting to replicate some of the stories on this site, I thought I'd try my hand at starting up where they left off. Anyways, this is defs what I'd do if I was the showrunner haha! But yeah, constructive criticism is always appreciated, be nice and leave me a review! Kisses!}

**Chapter One: Angelic Lies & Demonic Promises**

_"She told you I lied, didn't she? You should've listened to the bitch."_

Castiel, formerly an Angel of the Lord, the Angel of Thursday, a powerful, omnipresent, celestial being, grimaced as he forced his heavy eyelids to open and pulled himself to his feet.

_"I want you to stop thinking about master plans, Heaven and angels, and all this. That doesn't concern you anymore."_

He swore under his breath as he tripped over a branch on the pitch black forest floor. Angels don't trip, a small voice in his mind stated, but he ignored it.

_"These were never trials, Castiel. This is a spell. And what I'm taking from you now – your essence, your Grace – is the last piece."_

Castiel started to hear the wind pick up and howl through the trees and he shivered in the cold air. He finally made it to a clearing and looked up to the sky. And what he saw made his heart drop, made his mouth feel as dry as cotton, and made his blood run cold.

_"Now go."_

Hundreds of angels, his brothers and sisters, were falling from Heaven. From afar they looked like comets falling, a meteorite shower of epic proportions. But Castiel knew that up close it was an entirely different story. Their wings were being burned, singed off, their Graces were being ripped from their forms, and they were crashing into the ground as he had done. As Metatron had forced him to do.

Castiel subconsciously brought a hand up to his throat, his fingers feeling the unmarked skin. His own Grace had been cut from him, collected by the scribe of God, while he'd been bolted into the chair in Naomi's office. Memories started flooding back then. Naomi, dead on the table, her drill planted firmly in the back of her own bloody head. The angel tablet that Metatron had been distorting so that he could cast out the angels from their own home.

And Dean and Sam, finishing the third trial on the demon tablet in the abandoned church in South Dakota. He had to get to them. And he had to get to them now. He looked to the stars for direction, his heart crumpling when he tried to block out the fiery trails of his family falling.

He finally found Polaris, the North Star and started following it. Cas veered off-course three times before he finally hit a road. It was just a small, single lane dirt track that wound its way through the forest but it appeared luck was on his side tonight for the first time in a long time, as Cas immediately saw a sign suggesting that the direction he was going in led deeper into the forest.

He did an about face and started heading in the opposite bearing and after an hour came across a darkened ranger's hut with a small gravel car park. The car park was empty and the hut was devoid of any signs of life but thankfully a map on the wall showed him that he was currently situated in the forests of North-West Washington State.

Cas sighed despondently. Couldn't Metatron have sent him someplace a little more central? He continued on down the dark, muddy road for another few hours, his thoughts going over the situation he was in over and over again. Surely he couldn't have suspected Metatron's true aims, his true agenda. Could he? No, he couldn't have. The only person who found out anything had been Naomi, and she'd achieved it through drilling into the scribe's eye.

The prophet Kevin Tran had taken months to translate the demon tablet. They were asking the impossible in translating the angel tablet in mere hours. But still, was he that blind? Was he that easily fooled? He'd been lured in by Metatron and his talk of reuniting their family effortlessly. He'd just swallowed every word and believed it, pure and simple. He'd been lured in by Crowley's plans to thwart Raphael with the use of Purgatory's souls. He'd quickly decided that was a good idea, Leviathans be damned. And Uriel, way back then, had tricked him into making Dean torture Alastair, almost resulting in Dean's death.

Was he really just a hammer as Dean had described him all those years ago? Cas sighed again, as the sky lightened around him, midnight turning into dawn. He'd been walking for five hours since he'd fallen. But it seemed like days. Time seemed different to him. Slower. Maybe this was what it felt like being mortal. He'd have to remember that.

He swore again, a word learned from Dean, when he tripped over a tree root that had strayed close to the road. Castiel fell to his hands and knees, the wet mud chilling him instantly. He exhaled slowly, begging his tear ducts not to betray him. He had to remain strong if he was ever going to make it back to the Winchesters alive.

Castiel was just getting to his feet when he saw headlights bobbing up the road, the faint outline in the dawn light of a four-wheel-drive behind them. Cas immediately launched himself into the tree line away from the prying eyes of whoever might be driving the vehicle. He'd caused this mess – again, he reminded himself – he didn't know who might be out to get him now. He bit his lip so as to stay silent when a tree branch scraped his cheek. But the Jeep passed him without event and he chanced a glimpse at it. Park rangers – probably checking to see the damage after the "meteorite shower".

The former angel stumbled back onto the road, now much dirtier and sore than he was before and continued on his trek. Three hours later he'd made it to the highway and had hitched a ride into town – Chelan, the sign said. The elderly lady who'd picked him up could barely see so she hadn't even asked why he was covered in mud and dirt. Castiel just wished he'd been able to clean himself up before getting into her little Volvo but time was of the essence.

The thought made him think again of his lost Grace. He felt emptiness inside him, gnawing at him, tinged with a deep depression. But he pushed those feelings aside. He needed to get to South Dakota. He found a restroom at a Biggerson's and managed to clean himself up somewhat. The cut on his cheek wasn't deep and thankfully had stopped bleeding, but it stung when he touched it.

So this is how humans feel pain, he mused as he wiped the mud off his coat. He had to look somewhat presentable otherwise people would think negatively about him. That was one thing he'd learnt from Dean.

He walked back outside and headed onto the highway travelling West. He hitched another ride and, three hours later, was in Spokane. He found some small change in his pocket and managed to get himself some lunch whilst in Spokane after the pain in his stomach and the dizziness he felt became too much. This whole mortal thing really wasn't as fantastic as Dean seemed to make out it was, he complained inwardly.

Another hitched ride in a cramped 1980's Beetle and he was in Missoula, Montana. It was now late afternoon and he only just managed to get out of Washington State. He knew from riding around in the Impala with the Winchesters that Sioux Falls was still at least a day's driving away, if not more. But he had no money, and no phone. There was no angel radio because there were no angels. He had no one to turn to for any help. He just had to keep going.

He slept in a bus shelter in East Missoula that night and almost froze in the icy air and biting winds. This trenchcoat really wasn't all that warm, he thought, and after a few hours of shut eye, he decided to get up and keep walking.

Ignoring the pain in his stomach, the light-headedness and the ache in his heart, Castiel continued his journey. Another ride, this time in a vintage Chevrolet a little younger than Dean's took him through Montana and the North-Eastern corner of Wyoming to Spearfish, a little town on the Western border of South Dakota. The guy even bought him breakfast _and _lunch and Cas's spirits started to raise. Maybe it would be alright after all, what with the angels out of Heaven and all. Maybe it could all work out.

Castiel had been thinking about how they could all co-exist in peace and harmony as he'd walked along the deserted highway in the brisk early evening air. He'd been thinking that maybe there'd be some way to make it all better, right all of the wrongs when he stopped in his tracks.

In front of him stood a red-headed girl. She was tall and slim and for a moment, Cas thought it was Anna again. But that thought was quashed almost as soon as it had crossed his mind. This was no angel. He might not be an angelic being anymore but he could still tell a demon from a mile off. And this one was a doozy.

She started walking towards him, her high heeled boots clicking on the asphalt. Her slender legs were encased in the tightest black jeans Castiel had ever seen, her top half was accentuated by a revealing top that involved lacing down the sides and the black motorcycle jacket topped it off in a way that would have made Castiel nervous and Dean Winchester excited.

"Hello Castiel," she said.

"Who are you?" he replied, his voice gruff and low.

"Why Castiel, I'm surprised, you and me go way back," she purred, running her hand through her bright red hair. "Go on, guess!"

"I'm not going to play your stupid games, demon," Castiel replied. He wished, not for the first time since he was mortal, that he still had the powers of Heaven at his disposal, that he could smite this filthy being from the face of the earth and be done with her.

"Fine. It starts with an 'A' and ends with a 'baddon'," she grinned, getting right up close and personal with the former angel.

He refused to look at her, looked instead at the darkening field surrounding them, the pitch black highway road, the waning moon in the sky. "Get out of my way Abaddon. _Now_."

"Please, like you could do anything to stop me anyway, you're completely powerless," Abaddon laughed, throwing her head back, the vibrant hair of her latest vessel falling over her shoulders. "You're a puny, pathetic little human. I eat up people like you for breakfast. Excuse the pun," she said. "I don't think I want to get out of my way. I think I want to take you back to my lair and carve you up. Just a little bit."

"I'll ask you one more time, Abaddon, get"- Castiel's words were cut off when Abaddon's hand lunged out and grabbed his throat and hoisted him bodily into the air.

"No, I don't think you will. I'm tired of hearing your voice," she said, squeezing Cas's windpipe shut. "I promise you, you will beg for mercy once I've tried my hand at cutting out all the secrets you're keeping. And then you won't be demanding things, you'll be pleading for your life."

His hands clawed at the crushing grip she had on his throat but to no avail. Black spots appeared in his vision, he could hear a strange choking noise and realized it was himself. His feet dangled in the air, kicking out but never reaching the demon that was slowly strangling the life out of him. The pressure on his throat was unbearable and, in a brief moment of lucidity, Cas remembered how many times he'd seen a demon or angel alike do the same to Sam or Dean. No wonder they held anything un-human in such low regard.

Finally his bright blue eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out cold in Abaddon's grip. The Knight of Hell opened her hand and dropped him unceremoniously to the cold, hard road. She snapped her fingers and two demonic henchmen appeared beside her.

"Any word on Crowley?" she asked without bothering to even look at the hellspawn beside her.

"No ma'am, the Winchesters still have him, should we"-

"No. Leave him where he is. They'll take care of him just fine. It's a new dawn children, and we're going to start it by finding out everything there is to know about the Winchesters and Heaven. From this little guy here." She finished off with a well-aimed kick to the unconscious former angel's ribs. "Why don't you take him to Crowley's little lair. I rather liked that place. You know what to do."

"Yes ma'am," the two demons intoned. They grabbed Castiel and were gone in an instant. Abaddon surveyed the dark, empty highway and sighed happily, a smile forming on her face. "As fun as the 1950's were, I've got a feeling this time it's just going to get better and better."

As suddenly as she had appeared Abaddon was gone and the lonely South Dakota highway was barren of any beings – human, demon, or former angel – once again.

{A.N. So tell me what you think! Hit the review button and tell me if you like it! I think Abaddon is an awesome character and defs want to see more of her, really hoping she stays a redhead!}


	2. Miraculous Recovery & Meteor Chases

{A.N. Hey guys, here's Chapter 2, hope you guys like it! Thanks for all the awesome reviews; thanks for the praise FeveredDreamscape and here's hoping it delivers what it promises netherlady! I really love doing things from different POVs so I'm glad you liked how I did the first chapter moria galadrial.}

**Chapter 2: Miraculous Recovery & Meteor Chases**

_"Metatron lied. You finish this trial, you're dead Sam."_

Dean watched the orange glow fade from his brother's arms and he let out the breath he'd been holding. Every time he'd seen that glow, Sam had gotten worse. Hopefully that was the last he'd ever see it.

_"Think about what we know, huh? Pulling souls from hell, curing demons, hell, ganking a hellhound! We have enough knowledge on our side to turn the tide here. But I can't do it without you."_

Dean's heart dropped when he saw Sam double over in pain. Agony that he, Dean, had no way of stopping, no way to help his brother. Dean wracked his brains trying to solve the problem while he grabbed Sam and supported him towards the church door and away from Crowley.

_"I know we've had our disagreements, okay? Hell, I know I've said some junk that's set you back on your heels. But Sammy…come on. I killed Benny to save you. I'm willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed mom walk because of you. Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you! It has never been like that, ever! I need you to see that, I'm begging you."_

Dean tried to comfort his brother as they made it outside and towards the Impala. Sam groaned and fell down next to the Chevrolet, he couldn't concentrate, could barely see, he was in such pain. Dean called out for Cas but Sam knew it was no use, somehow he knew.

_"Come on, let it go okay? Let it go, brother."_

Dean Winchester looked up to the sky and saw what would be a once in a lifetime event. If his confidence and faith had buckled when his brother collapsed in pain, it was now gone completely, replaced by a soul-destroying pit of worry deep in his stomach. When one of the angels stuck the lake right next to them, Sam looked up.

"What's happening?" Sam gasped.

"Angels," Dean replied. "They're falling."

* * *

**Five days later.**

Dean yawned loudly as he walked into the central room of the Men of Letters' secret lair. Truth be told, he loved the place. He had his own room, they had hot showers _every day_, it was a _secret lair _with its own dungeon, what more could a hunter want? Immediately after the events of five days ago, they'd driven the 6 hours straight from Sioux Falls to Lebanon, Kansas and holed up in the Batcave with Crowley left and forgotten at the abandoned church. It wasn't like he was the most popular demon in Hell after all now that he had a semi-conscience.

Sam had gotten progressively worse over the first two days but over the last three he'd started to get better. Dean had been beside himself with worry when his brother's condition had worsened. There was no one to call, no one to ask, no one to summon. Balthazar was long dead. Castiel hadn't responded. Garth wasn't answering his calls. Kevin, who'd gone back to Garth's boat, couldn't find anything on the angel or demon tablets.

But now things seemed to be looking up. If you discounted the fact that every angel in Heaven had now plummeted to Earth, including, Dean assumed, one of their closest on-again, off-again allies, things weren't too bad. Nothing had popped up causing Dean to worry.

There'd been a couple of strange news stories which Dean attributed to angels assimilating badly, but he wasn't sure if he should do anything about it. Shouldn't that be their leader's concern? Dean had lost track of the goings on in Heaven (not that Castiel kept him entirely informed) but he had no idea who the angels would be turning to right now.

Dean had been busy this morning. He'd already gone out on a run and picked up the essentials: eggs, bacon, beer, peanut M&M's and had made a huge cooked breakfast for himself and his brother. Sam was already seated at the main table in the library, a book propped open in front of him. Dean set down the plate in front of him, on top of the book, earning a glare from Sam.

"I make you breakfast and you glare at me. Seriously dude, we gotta work on your manners," Dean said, sitting down himself and surveying the masterpiece of food that was his breakfast. "Home cooked meal…" he murmured in mock anger.

"Have you heard anything?" Sam asked.

"From who?" Dean looked up from his bacon and egg sandwich.

"Castiel? Naomi? Metatron? Any of the angels?"

Dean was confused for a moment. Then he realized that this was the first time that he'd had a relatively lucid chat with Sam about what had happened. This was the first day that Sam had actually gotten out of bed, showered and dressed and come out to the main room. Dean had been focusing on that fact and not all of the worries that were gnawing away at him.

"There has been absolutely no news on the angel front," Dean replied. As an afterthought he added, "Haven't heard from Cas yet."

"Yet? What do you mean yet? Have you tried looking for him?" Sam asked, putting his knife and fork down in exhausted irritation. "Did you _even_ try?"

"Of course I tried Sammy," Dean shot back angrily. "But how do you think we are supposed to find those self-righteous dicks anyway? They're _all human now_. We can't just summon one of them."

Sam sighed unhappily. "We need to try. Cas…he thought he was doing the right thing"-

"Yeah he always does. He's a sucker for good intentions and we all know where that leads," Dean cut in, before taking a bite of his breakfast. "The very same thing happened with Crowley and the souls. Now the same thing has happened again. He gets a hit of sympathy from someone and then he's like putty in their hands. All ready to be manipulated."

"You can't say that about Naomi though. She was mind-controlling him. That's not the same," Sam countered. "And he broke it up with her anyway. Deep down he _knew _what he was doing wasn't right. And he stopped."

"Not before he'd beaten me up. Again, I might add," Dean said. He tapped his nose. "I'm really tired of this beauty getting broken."

"Yeah, but he fixed you," Sam replied.

Dean sighed. He didn't know what to think of Castiel anymore. At one point he had been their best friend, _his _best friend. The best ally they could've had in the war against Lucifer and the apocalypse. Cas had helped them fight off other angels – his own family – to make sure that the Winchesters were safe. But he'd changed. He'd tried to find God. And that's where things had fallen down. An angel without any faith is like a semi-trailer with severed brake lines. All the freedom in the world, but a complete disaster waiting to happen.

And then the problems with Raphael had started. Sure, that was something no one expected. Why the hell would anyone want to jumpstart the apocalypse? _Again? _ But if only Cas had come to them for help, they could've…Dean thoughts drifted off. What could they have done differently? Dean wasn't sure what they could've done, but hell, given the chance, they might've found something.

Dean sighed again. "Okay," he said.

"Okay, what?" Sam asked, confused.

"Okay, we'll try and find him. But I did a little digging and there were 9,842 meteorite sightings around the world, five days ago. Which one was Cas?" Dean questioned.

"Well you said the Naomi told you what Cas was doing wasn't to close the gates of Heaven. It was to cast out the angels, right?" Sam said, working through his theory in his mind.

"Uh-huh."

"So, killing a Nephilim, getting a cupid's bow, that was the start of it, the spell or trials or whatever Cas was doing," Sam continued.

"Yeah…"

"So obviously there was at least one more thing he had to do to complete it. You know, like with closing the gates of Hell – kill a hellhound, check. Rescue a soul from hell, check. Cure a demon, not quite check. But once Cas had done whatever he did, the angels started to be cast out."

"Okay, Sam, I don't know where you're going with this, but yeah."

"So maybe if we figure out what that third trial was, we could figure out what happened to Cas," Sam finished.

"Yeah, I guess. But, still, how do we know that Naomi was telling the truth?" Dean replied.

"Well, look at it this way. She might have been mind-controlling angels for millennia but she was right about this one. She said that what Cas was doing would cast out the angels from Heaven, and that's what happened. Why don't we, just this once, trust her?"

"Fine."

* * *

**Two days later.**

Dean and Sam were waiting on a response from Kevin about the Angel tablet, but they both had an inkling there wouldn't be anything on the tablet that related to casting out the Angels. To pass the time they'd been researching any and all leads on angels in the books at the Men of Letters lair.

While digging through a box in one of the storerooms, Dean had come across a tattered old manila folder with the words 'Angels to Earth: Trials' written on the tab. Inside were the three trials needed to cast out all the angels from Heaven to Earth.

"What the hell?" The first thing that struck him as odd would be why the Men of Letters would have a copy of the trials. But still, it wasn't a hugely effective weapon compared to, say, shutting the doors of Hell forever and ever, amen. He supposed someone picked it up somewhere and filed it away for any potential future use.

He brought it back to the main table and he and Sam poured over it. There was the first trial, instructing the trial-taker to kill a Nephilim, the offspring of an angel and a human. The second trial, to cut off a cupid's bow. And the third.

To give up your own Grace and be the first to fall.

Both Dean and Sam sat down at the table and let that thought wash over them. Would Castiel have really given up his own Grace because he thought it would fix Heaven? Surely not.

"He wouldn't have been that stupid," Dean finally said. "I mean, he's done some pretty damn stupid stuff in the past but, come on. 'Give up your own Grace'? That's gotta raise a few eyebrows."

"But Naomi said that it was all Metatron though," Sam suggested. "That it was Metatron wanting revenge on Heaven."

"So…what are you saying?"

"Well, maybe they use the term 'give up' loosely here. Maybe Metatron just took it from Cas?"

"After seeing that place he was living in, I figured that guy was all kinds of screwed up, but I can't picture him doing that," Dean said. "Cas had a hard time pretending to be an FBI agent and all he had to do was fool a few hick cops. Surely pulling the wool over another angel is a bit trickier."

"Yeah but compare the two, Dean," Sam argued. "Cas said that he'd only ever been watching, for thousands of years. That the first time he actually had to come down to Earth and do something was when he pulled you out from Hell. Metatron's been here since before Columbus for god's sake. And he's been _reading up on us_. If anyone knew how to act out a part it'd be him."

"Goddamnit," Dean murmured. "Cas would never have seen it coming." Dean ran a hand over his face. He suddenly felt seriously guilty for thinking that Castiel was just some blind puppy following anyone and everyone. He'd been tricked by his own kind. He'd spotted Gabriel a mile off, knew that he wasn't just some trickster, some Pagan demi-god. But he'd never suspected Metatron. "Alright. We gotta find Cas."

"Well it shouldn't be too hard," Sam said. Dean frowned at his younger brother.

"No?"

"It says right here, 'give up your Grace and be the first to fall'. The _first _to fall. We're not looking for a needle in a haystack anymore. We're looking for the first one," Sam said, triumphantly. Dean couldn't help but smile. A week ago, his brother had been a wreck, all dark circles and 40 hour naps, and now, he was almost back to his old self. If anything was a miracle it was this.

An hour later on his laptop, and Sam had found the first meteor sighting. "Washington State."

Dean looked up from the musty old volume he'd been looking at. "Huh?"

"The first meteor sighting was reported by a Ranger Luke Johnston of the Lake Chelan State Park in Washington State. That's gotta be him, don't you think?"

"I suppose so. Shall we get going then?" Dean said, standing up.

"Wait, Dean, it's been a week. I doubt he'd still be there," Sam said. "He's human now right? Which means he's gotta eat. He's gotta sleep. He would've moved on."

"Yeah, but what other leads do we have. Garth put out the call to everyone to let us know if they find him and we've got nothing on that front."

"Dean, it's almost 24 hours if we drive there without stopping," Sam said. His older brother mused on that thought for a moment before nodding and pushing his chair in.

"We've driven further for less," was the reply and two hours later they were on the road.

* * *

As they were taking the Impala slowly and steadily up the fireroad that led through Lake Chelan State Park, Dean was starting to think his brother had been right. They'd spoken to a few people in town and no one had seen Castiel. The rangers they'd spoken to said the same thing. Everyone had been a little distracted by the meteor shower that they wouldn't even have noticed him. While Dean was easing his huge Chevrolet through the forest to the mile marker the ranger had said was closest to where he'd assumed the meteorite may have landed, Sam was on his laptop, hacking into the CCTV of some of the businesses in Chelan.

"Bingo," Sam erupted from the passenger side.

Perfect timing, thought Dean as he saw the 6.2 mile marker and pulled the Impala over. "What have you found?"

"Here, it's CCTV footage from a Biggerson's the day after the meteor shower. Take a look." Sam swivelled the computer around on his lap so it faced his brother. It showed the foyer of a Biggerson's with the entrance to the fast food restaurant on the right and the doors to the restrooms on the left. People were walking in and out going about their business but a slight man in a muddy, tattered trenchcoat caught Dean's eye. He did a double take as the man walked into the men's room.

"Is that"-

"Keep watching," Sam promised. A few moments later the men's room door opened again and Castiel walked out. His trenchcoat was still ripped and torn in a few places but he appeared to have roughly cleaned some of the muddy patches. There was a cut on his cheekbone but it didn't look too bad. What Dean noticed most of all though, was how he really looked, wrecked trenchcoat and cut cheek aside. His shoulders were hunched, his head was bowed, and he barely looked at anyone as he walked out. He seemed completely defeated.

"Well I guess we've got the right place, but I think we're a little late," Dean said. "If he was already in town by the next day then he's well and truly blown it by now."

"You're far too late, I'd say."

Both Sam and Dean jumped at the sound of a female voice at the open driver's side window. A red headed woman was standing a few feet away from the car, hips cocked to one side, checking out her fingernails. The brothers got out of the Impala slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves, and Dean pulled Ruby's knife out of his jacket's inner pocket.

"And who the hell are you?" Dean asked, exasperatedly. If there was one thing he'd had enough of, it was demon bitches who always knew more than him.

"Well, you'd think I'd made an impression on you two boneheads since you cut me up into little pieces and all," she replied.

"Abaddon," Sam said.

"Give the giraffe a medal!" she exclaimed sarcastically.

"What do you want, Abaddon?" Dean questioned, knife at the ready.

"Well, considering you were just checking out your angel boy toy on video and you appear to be right where he landed, I'd say that what _you _want is Castiel," she deducted.

"Wow. Give the red head _bitch _a medal," Dean snarled back at her.

"You might want to be a little nicer to the demon that's holding your ex-angel captive in a dungeon all tied up," she replied.

"What?" Sam shouted. "What would you want him for? He's not even an angel anymore!"

"Yeah, I know," Abaddon said. She started to check out her nails again and pulled out an emery board. "But he still screams when you cut him. It's actually been kind of fun."

"You bitch," Dean started, walking up to Abaddon, knife raised, " tell me where he is or I swear to God I'll"-

"You'll what?" Abaddon didn't even look up from inspecting the nails on her right hand when she grabbed Dean's wrist with the other. She squeezed and the knife fell from his hand along with a cry of pain escaping from his mouth, as bones crushed together. Dean punched her across the face with his left hand. It hardly distressed her as she kicked him in the stomach sending him flying. "You can keep your little skewer, that'll barely leave a scratch on me," she said, picking up Ruby's knife and throwing it. It landed inches away from Dean's unconscious face. Sam just stood there, frozen to the ground, he wasn't sure if he should run or what. After all, the last time he'd seen Abaddon was when he'd been setting her previous vessel on fire.

"Now Sam, how about you do what your older brother is clearly incapable of and be a polite gentleman, while I write down the address of where I'm keeping Castiel."

"What? Why?"

"Why should you be a gentleman or why am I telling you where your angel is?"

"Uh, the second one?"

"Because, truthfully, I'm kind of bored. It was fun playing with him, but I've got bigger fish to fry. Now that you've completely incapacitated Crowley you're looking at the next King of Hell. Or Queen I suppose. Now I'll give you back your angel on one condition."

"What? Anything?"

"I'm really over you and your brother. Your whole family in fact. So I'll just ask one thing. Leave me the hell alone. You even think about closing the gates of Hell and I will be on you like white on rice. Anyways, looks like _you've_ got bigger fish to fry as well," Abaddon said. She handed him a scrap of paper. Sam looked down to see an address written in cursive and when he looked up, the Knight of Hell was gone.

He looked over at his brother, out cold next to the Impala. "Guess I'm driving then." He looked down at the note. "Evergreen, Missouri it is."

{A.N. Hope you liked the second instalment, as I said before, constructive criticism is always appreciated (as well as just plain old love haha!) so review away!}


	3. Guilt Trips & Bloodied Lips

{A.N. Hey guys thanks so much for the reviews! I'm really liking where this is heading and I'll definitely keep it up, don't you worry. CaptainAlias: thanks a bunch! Means a lot that you think I'm getting the characters down well. I'm just kind of imagining what they'd say and writing it down - seems to be working! youwannabekate: there's always gonna be angsty hurt comfort in my fics haha! Might have to wait for the next instalment to see the patching up though, and don't worry, Crowley is not forgotten! elixluna: don't worry it wouldn't be a angsty hurt comfort fic if we didn't find out what Cas went through, it's all coming up soon. aparrelainetai: so glad you're liking it so much! And so glad you didn't have to wait too long!}

**Chapter 3: Guilt Trips & Bloodied Lips**

They'd just passed through Coeur D'Alene, Idaho, when Dean started to come round. Sam had struggled for a few minutes to get his big brother into the Impala and leaned him up against the passenger side window, with Ruby's knife safe in the glovebox, once Abaddon had gone. Now Dean groaned and shifted on the vinyl benchseat.

"How long was I out?" he croaked out.

"About four hours. I already checked you over though," Sam said, his eyes not leaving the road, knowing full well that his brother would kill him for crashing his car in the steady downpour.

Dean rubbed his right wrist; the one Abaddon had crushed in her bruising grip earlier in Lake Chelan State Park. "Doesn't feel like anything's broken in there," he said.

"Yeah just bruised, that's what I thought. Especially when it started coming up all black and blue," Sam replied. "There's that and you've got a pretty nice shiner coming up."

"What?" Dean sighed and looked at his reflection in the wing mirror. Sure enough, his cheekbone had a bluish bloom spreading. "Damnit, how am I meant to pick up chicks with this?"

"I thought you said chicks dig battle scars," Sam smirked as he followed the highway on towards Missoula, Montana.

"Yeah, whatever. Where are we?"

"Montana. Just passed the border, just passed Coeur D'Alene about a half hour ago."

Dean nodded, processing the information. Then something occurred to him. "And…where are we going?"

"Evergreen, Missouri. That's where Cas is according to Abaddon."

"And why the hell would Abaddon tell you where Cas is anyway?" Dean asked, sceptically.

"Because, and I paraphrase, she was tired of playing with him," Sam said. Silence reigned over the passenger side while Dean mulled over Abaddon's words.

Finally he asked, "How far away are we?"

"24 hours at least," Sam said resignedly.

"Where we you planning on stopping?"

"For lunch? Already did. Backseat."

"Aw, Sammy, you are too kind," Dean said with a grin. He reached over onto the backseat and found a paper bag filled with a burger, extra onions, fries and a Coke. "You're a gentleman and a scholar," he said through a mouthful of fries. "When were you planning on stopping for the night though?"

"For the night? Dean, we have to get to Cas, you heard what Abaddon said, about how he 'still screams when you cut him', she's been torturing him for the better part of a week, we need to get there," Sam said determined.

"No Sam, I know he's our friend, but you were just up and walking a couple days ago. God knows what will happen in the future and what those trials have done to you long term. You _need _to take it easy," Dean replied sternly.

Deep down Dean was torn. He knew that he would probably be able to manage driving 24 hours straight with a couple naps but they had no way of knowing how it would affect Sam. Would he get sick again? Be barely able to stand? But there was also the possibility of Castiel, the angel that had stood his ground for the Winchesters time and time again, perishing while they slept in a motel. But, after all, a little voice in Dean's head piped up, it's his own fault that he's human. Dean banished that thought immediately but it stuck around in his head, bouncing off what if's and what could've been's. Could Dean have spotted Metatron's secret agenda if he'd spent a bit more time in his presence? Could they have stopped the angels falling? Dean wasn't sure. He wasn't even sure if the whole thing was Castiel's fault in the first place.

"Dean, hello?"

Dean looked up at his brother and frowned. "What?"

"You just drifted off for a moment there. You concussed?"

"No, I'm fine. What is it?" he asked, taking a bite of his cold, but still good, burger.

"I was just saying, we could take it in turns for the drive, and if you really want to, you can do the majority, I just think we need to get there sooner rather than later."

"Yeah, me too," Dean replied softly.

"Yeah?" Sam asked, confirming.

"I said yeah, didn't I? We'll stop for a bite later on, uh, what time is it now…three o'clock... we'll stop for a bite, then I'll drive the first night shift," Dean offered.

"Sure thing."

* * *

Nine hours later and they were passing through an empty Sheridan, Wyoming, the streets filled with the darkness that comes with midnight. Sam was fast asleep, head pillowed on the passenger side window and Dean was driving. His bruised wrist was lying in his lap and his left hand was guiding the Chevrolet along the lonely highway.

And his mind was racing.

He couldn't decide how to feel about Castiel. Earlier, at the Men of Letters lair he'd been feeling guilty for thinking that Cas had brought all of this upon himself. Now, he wasn't so sure. Yes, the angel had been led on by Metatron and had been brainwashed by Naomi, countless times. But he'd still done terrible things.

Castiel had decimated Heaven after engulfing all of the souls from Purgatory. He had killed countless people during that time, some of whom had deserved it and some who, well, motivational speakers probably deserved it too for being so positive all the time, Dean thought. And that whole time he had thought he was doing the right thing. That's what always tripped Cas up. The right thing. And doing it. Somehow he just always got it wrong.

Even when he was an angel and was getting orders from on high, the right thing still involved smiting a whole town instead of finding one witch – something that Dean was seriously not cool with. So maybe following the road of good intentions was a problem inherent in angels. No, Dean thought, most angels were just following orders, whereas Castiel was breaking up the rule book and striking out on his own most of the time.

After a few more minutes of this, Dean decided to stop at a gas'n'sip, fill up and grab a hot coffee. The change of scenery helped and he stopped going round and round in circles in his head and focused on one thought. When they found Castiel, _if _they found him alive and kicking, he'd just have to have one hell of a conversation with him about right and wrong.

* * *

At five a.m. they switched seats and Dean was asleep before his head hit the cool glass of the window. They were driving through South Dakota at the moment, half way between Rapid City and Sioux Falls and Dean had finally run out of energy.

Sam also couldn't stop thinking about the situation they were in. Well, not really they, the Winchesters, per se, but the angels. Or ex-angels he should say. What on earth would they do now? Was there a way to get them back up into Heaven? Were they completely mortal now, like they'd assumed Cas was?

That reminded him. Cas. They'd simply ignored Cas for the last week. He would've been cold, hungry, hurt, worried. And then snatched up by demons that were all still at full power and tortured by them. For fun. Sam couldn't shake the guilt he was feeling over it. He and his brother had completely abandoned Castiel in his worst moment. In his moment of _real _need. If Sam hadn't been so sick…

Sam shook his head, mentally and physically, clearing his thoughts. It was absolutely no use going over these things. They couldn't go back in time and stop Cas from working with Metatron, they couldn't have been able to get to Cas before Abaddon, but they were getting him now. They'd take him back to the Men of Letters lair and make sure everything was ok now. That was the important part. Not then. Now. The present.

Sam checked the fuel gauge, three quarters full. The rain that had poured all night had stopped, the skies were still a dark grey but it was dry. He gunned the engine faster, getting closer to Sioux Falls.

* * *

Dean, having never been an early riser, woke up at half past nine that morning, just as they were speeding past Omaha.

"Nebraska?"

"Yep," Sam said. "Breakfast on the backseat."

"Sam Winchester, I have taught you well," Dean said, reaching over for the paper bag and grabbing the coffee carefully. He bit into his bacon and egg sandwich and, through a mouthful of egg, asked, "How far away are we now?"

"You're like a child," Sam said, but there wasn't much humour in his voice. They were getting close. Things were getting tense. "About six hours or so." He looked over at Dean, both of their faces were deadly serious, mouths set in grim determination. "Almost there."

"Thank god," Dean breathed. "Be good if there were still a couple angels around, you know, to zap us there."

"Yeah, you know our history with good luck though," Sam replied mirthlessly.

They sat in silence for the next few hours, tension building, stopped at a drive through for lunch in Leavenworth and were at Evergreen Missouri at 5pm having ironically hit some peak hour traffic while finding the abandoned factory on the outskirts of the town that Abaddon's address pointed to. The rain had started back up again as well, making the going even slower.

Finally Dean pulled up outside a dilapidated old building, the faded words 'Jones Canned Goods' painted on the side. "This is it then," he said. They opened the trunk and pulled out shotguns, holy water, rock salt rounds and anything else they might need. Then they turned to face the old factory. Dean started towards but Sam didn't. Dean turned around to face his younger brother. Sam's face was riddled with guilt, his eyes glassy.

"What is it?" he asked gently.

"What if…what if we get in there and…Cas isn't…he's not"-

"Look, we'll go in and…whatever's in there, we'll just…deal with it, alright?" Dean said, walking up to his brother and putting a hand on his shoulder. "We'll figure it out, okay, little brother?"

Sam took a shuddering breath and nodded. "Okay," he said.

The two of them picked the lock on one of the doors closest to the Impala and crept into the abandoned darkness, the beams from their flashlights bouncing in front of them. They moved silently through the forsaken factory, ears pricked for any sounds reverberating around in the pitch black gloom. Walking down a corridor, they both froze when they heard voices. Flattening themselves against the wall, the brothers held their collective breaths as footsteps sounded. Dean pulled out Ruby's knife.

The voices and footsteps came closer and the two of them tensed for a fight before Dean leaped out and buried his knife in the chest of one of the two demons walking down the corridor. His eyes flashed black as electricity pulsed around the knife and he dropped to the floor dead. The other demon had frozen in place while his comrade was jumped and Dean, in one graceful move, brought the knife around and plunged it into the second demon.

"You're…too…late," the demon said as it died, a smile on its face.

Dean's heart dropped and he yanked out the knife, not even bothering to wipe it and started running towards the direction that the two demons had been coming from, Sam hot on his heels.

They ran down one corridor and into another which had fluorescent lights switched on overhead. The corridor was long with at least ten rooms branching off it. The doors were old fashioned with glass windows in them and Dean ran up to the first one on the left, Sam to the first one on the right.

"Nothing," Dean said, his voice tinged with desperation.

"Same here," Sam replied. They moved to the next two doors. Nothing again. Same with the next two and the two after that. Sam and Dean looked to the last two doors.

"He's gotta be here," Dean said, despondently. They moved to the final two doors.

"Well I found Crowley," Sam said. "We better get him out. I guess." Crowley was sitting in the room, eyes on the floor, actually looking sad for once. Sam turned around to see Dean motionless, looking through the door's small window. "Dean?"

Dean jumped at the sound of his brother's voice and turned to face Sam. His eyes were full of unshed tears. "We've…found him."

Sam pushed past his shaken up brother and tried the doorknob. It wouldn't budge. He pulled out his lock picks but Dean moved him out the way and a well-aimed kick had the door splintering, almost off its hinges. Dean felt around for a light switch, found one and flicked it on. The room was bare, no desks, no filing cabinets, no furniture left by its previous occupant. But that's not what Dean and Sam were focusing on.

In a corner of the room, huddled in the rags of what used to be a white shirt, black suit and a tan trenchcoat was Castiel. As soon as the light switched on his whole body flinched violently and he withdrew into himself some more.

"Please…" he whispered, the words barely registering. "Please…no more…"

"Cas?" Dean said softly, stepping forward. His actions only caused Cas even more fear and worry as the former angel pressed himself into the corner and raised his arms, his wrists bound with rope, so they covered his face, hissing in pain as the movement aggravated an injury that Sam and Dean couldn't see.

"Cas, it's me, Dean. Sam's here too. We've come to rescue you. Abaddon's gone," Dean said quietly, staying in place. He didn't want to frighten his friend any more than he had to in order to get him back to the Men of Letters lair.

"Abaddon's…gone?" Cas asked hoarsely. He let his tied arms drop to the floor and looked up.

Dean bit back a gasp as he saw Castiel's beaten, bruised and bloody face. One eye was swollen shut, his lip had been split in at least three places, there was a clump of bloody hair near his temple, finger-shaped bruises on his throat, it looked like both his nose and mouth had been trickling blood at one point, and the cut on his cheekbone that Sam and Dean had seen in the CCTV footage from Biggerson's.

"Yeah, she's gone, Cas," Dean said. He took another step closer and Cas flinched again. "We're not going to hurt you, I promise." He moved closer and Cas didn't cringe away from him. Dean smiled. "It's us, Cas. We're gonna take you home, patch you up alright?" Dean turned around to face his brother who was still standing in the doorway. "Do you wanna get Crowley out? He might be of some use I suppose."

Sam tore his eyes away from Castiel and to his brother and nodded abruptly. "Yeah, sure I'll get on it." He pulled out his lock pick and started on the door opposite Castiel's room.

"Alright," Dean said turning back to Cas. "I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?"

Castiel nodded, his left eye, the one that wasn't swollen and black, following Dean's every movement. Dean came closer to Cas but his steps were rushed and Cas recoiled, squeezing his good eye shut, his breathing quickening.

"Cas, it's okay, we're here to help. Let me untie your wrists, can you let me do that?" Dean offered.

Cas turned back to him and studied Dean's face, trying to decide what he should do. Finally he nodded and extended his arms. Dean noticed that one arm, Cas's left seemed to be completely limp and that the rope that tied it to his right arm was the only thing holding it suspended.

"Is your shoulder okay?" Dean asked. He pointed to Castiel's left shoulder. "That one?"

Cas's face lowered and he shook his head no. Dean knew at a glance what a dislocated shoulder felt like and it must be killing Castiel right about now. Dean sighed sadly; he knew what he'd have to do. "Okay, I'm going to cut through that rope now, but I've got to get closer to do it, alright?"

Dean saw Cas take a shaky breath in and out. Then he raised his gaze to Dean's face and nodded, yes. Dean slowly took the last few steps towards Castiel and crouched down. When he pulled out his switchblade and flicked it open, Cas didn't flinch but Dean could see how much effort it was taking him not to. Dean carefully picked up Cas's bound wrists, noticing the dried blood on both the rope and his hands and grimaced. This was going to hurt. He started sawing away at the rope, inwardly thanking whatever had possessed him to sharpen the switchblade the day before they left for Lake Chelan.

After cutting through one tightly wrapped loop of rope he started to unravel it from Castiel's wrists. Cas gasped when the rope was gently pulled from his wrists, reopening the cuts they had caused. Dean quickly threw the rope aside and pulled a bandanna from his pocket, ripped it in half and gingerly tied each half around one of his friend's bleeding wrists. When he'd finished Cas let out the breath he'd been holding and let his arms drop into his lap.

"Time to fix that shoulder," Dean said. Cas looked up sharply at that, his one good eye filled with fear and ever-present pain and he hesitantly shook his head, no. "Yeah, Cas, I'm gonna have to. The longer it stays dislocated, the more damage is being done. Plus we have to drive back to Lebanon, and you don't want to be bumping it every time we hit a pothole."

Dean was being brusque but he needed to get Cas out of this cold, draughty, damp environment. Cas's fingers had been ice-cold to the touch and Dean knew every passing minute was bringing him closer to pneumonia or hypothermia. Cas nodded his consent and Dean placed his hands on the dislocated shoulder.

"It's going to hurt, so on three. One"- he pushed Castiel's shoulder back into place and felt the bones grinding under his fingers as Cas cried out in pain. The ex-angel slumped forward, his head on Dean's shoulder, his chest heaving in barely controlled sobs as Dean rubbed his hand over Castiel's back. Getting a dislocated shoulder put back in place was painful enough but Dean had no idea how long it had even been dislocated for. Cas finally calmed down enough to open his good eye and cringed back against the wall again. Dean whipped around to see Sam and Crowley standing in the doorway.

"Is he alright?" Crowley asked, concerned. Sam turned a shocked expression towards the ex-King of Hell but Dean took it in his stride.

"No, he's not. We need to get him back. You coming or not?"

"Well considering I am currently persona non grata downstairs and there _is no _upstairs anymore, I suppose I am. Could be going worse places anyway. This place wasn't very nice. Neither is Abaddon anymore," Crowley rambled.

"Good to hear, Sammy help me with Cas," Dean said. He looped his arm around Cas's waist as Sam came around to the former angel's other side and moved Cas's right arm so that it was around his shoulders. They walked out slowly, Cas, clearly in pain from a number of unseen injuries. Crowley was a different man. He even opened doors for them.

When Sam and Dean finally got a now-unconscious Castiel into the backseat with Crowley next to him, they stopped for a breather, leaning up against the Impala's roof.

"Well at least Crowley isn't a dick anymore," Sam said.

Dean nodded. "We've got a lot to make up for though, with Cas."

"I know. It's our fault he"-

"Let's not get into whose fault it is. If he was awake we'd be arguing for hours. Let's just get them both back to the Men of Letters, then we can figure out what to do next," Dean said and sighed, running a hand over his face.

"But, seriously, Dean, what _are _we going to do next?"

"I have no idea Sammy."

{A.N. Well there you go, Cas is found! Tell me what you think, give me pointers, ideas, love!}


	4. Unhealed Wounds & Unfounded Concerns

{A.N. Hey guys, here's chapter 4 already! This is like the fastest story I've ever written haha! Just keeps coming! I wanted to thank all of you for your lovely reviews, and here is some feedback for your feedback! CaptainAlias: yeah I love Crowley too, it's a tricky one trying to figure out what he'd be like with almost a conscience but I just went in the same direction as canon for it! Loving the conflict in this story too, there'll be lots more. Guest: thanks for reviewing! Here is more!}

**Chapter 4: Unhealed Wounds & Unfounded Concerns**

"They would do it every day. Go in there with a bit of food in the morning, just bread and water, I got the same thing. And then an hour later they'd just start tormenting him. It was worse than a _Mad Men _marathon. I mean, I love AMC, but I hate Betty Draper"-

"Enough with the television crap, Crowley, what did they do to him?" Dean asked from the front seat. He studied Cas's form in the rear-view mirror. His friend was slumped and the pieces of Dean's bandana tied around his wrists was already partly red. Cas had been unconscious for the better part of the last five hours. They were a couple hours from the Men of Letters and Dean hoped he stayed that way. He'd be easier to patch up if he was out cold.

"They tortured him is what they did!" Crowley replied in a stage-whisper. They could have been having a huge argument but all three of them would still keep their voices hushed so as not to disturb Cas. "It was all Abaddon. She is one hard-hearted bitch. She beat him, cut him, starved him, everything."

"Everything?" Dean asked tentatively. He looked at Crowley's face in the rear-view mirror then moved his gaze to the unconscious ex-angel.

"Well okay, not everything. His virtue's still intact I assume. But nevertheless, he barely got a moment's respite," Crowley said. His voice took on an annoyed tone as he added, "I mean, they practically ignored me!"

Dean exhaled slowly and looked over to Sam then back to the road. Thank god they were close to home. Sarcastic, one-step-ahead, demonic Crowley was bad enough. But almost-souled Crowley was almost intolerable when he was feeling his feelings.

"P.S. Where are you taking me?" Crowley asked, and Dean was happy to note his normally confident voice was tinged with worry.

"Ever heard of the Men of Letters?" Sam asked.

"Course I have, who hasn't? Oh, I forgot you two are complete morons," he said, with a laugh, sounding a little more like the old Crowley.

"Well," Sam continued, ignoring Crowley's comment, "turns out our grandfather was one. Our father was also meant to be one, but, well, Abaddon happened. But now, we're technically the only Men of Letters left _and _we have the key to their secret lair."

"I do love a secret lair, don't you?" Crowley grinned, directing that last part to the still-lifeless Castiel who, of course, didn't answer. "That's where we're going?"

"That's where we're going," Dean replied. "Now can you shut up?"

* * *

They reached the Men of Letters lair in record time which wouldn't be too hard considering they were travelling at one in the morning. When they got in, Sam gave Crowley a brief tour, told him if he broke anything he was dead and showed him the kitchen and bedroom that he could take over. They'd figure out what to do with Crowley later.

Dean gently roused Castiel who had since progressed from unconsciousness to sleep, and half-walked, half-carried him into the bedroom next door to Dean's. He managed to pry off the tattered remains of Cas's trenchcoat and suit jacket before dropping them in the trash can. The depressed look Cas sent his ruined clothes was enough to make Dean silently promise to find him replacements as soon as he was back on his feet. Castiel's tie was long gone and his shirt was covered in dirt and dried blood. Dean almost dreaded taking it off.

Cas was hardly lucid in his current state but he noticed Dean's apprehension. "It's…okay," he said, his words slightly slurred by exhaustion and pain. "I…I trust…you Dean."

Dean looked up and his hazel-green eyes met Castiel's otherworldly blue one – his right eye was still well and truly swollen shut – and he could see the pain and hurt and betrayal in there, but he could also see the trust, that inherent trust in Dean that Castiel seemed never to run out of. Dean took a deep breath and helped Castiel out of his shirt.

He didn't see the full extent of Castiel's injuries at first; he was too concerned with not jostling Cas's previously dislocated shoulder. When Dean finally dropped the torn shirt into the trash, along with the coat and jacket and turned around, his mouth betrayed him. Big time.

"Jesus Christ, Cas, why the hell didn't you say anything?" he said, louder than he meant to.

Cas flinched at his voice and looked down, his gaze trained on the carpet. "I'm sorry…" he whispered, his words shaking with involuntary fear.

Dean took control of himself and sat back down on the bed next to Cas, who cringed away again. Every time he did that it tortured Dean's heart. It physically hurt him to see his friend so afraid. "No, Cas, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have shouted like that," Dean said. He raised a hand to put on his friend's shoulder, a movement he'd done countless times to Sammy to comfort or reassure him, then thought better of it. "I just…what that bitch did to you…You should've said something. We could've patched you up then and there."

"I'm sorry Dean," Castiel repeated, softly.

"Stop saying it, Cas, you don't have to be sorry for this. I mean, there's a ton of things we all need to be sorry for, but this," Dean waved a hand in the direction of his friend's bloody, cut and bruised abdomen, "none of this was your fault. But let's fix it, huh."

Cas nodded and Dean set to work. They really had done a number on him. The ribs on his left side were so bruised there was hardly a patch of skin that wasn't discoloured. Four were definitely cracked and once Dean had finished tending to his other wounds he'd need to wrap Cas's ribs to protect them from further injury. The bullet wound from Crowley's anti-angel gun was still healing and had reopened and there were smaller knife wounds all over his chest. Dean cleaned them and stitched the bullet wound and the larger cuts. Then he moved onto Cas's back. He frowned at it, confused.

"What did she do to you, Cas?" he said touching one of the misshapen black blooms marring his otherwise perfect tanned skin.

"One of the demons got bored a couple days ago and whipped me with his belt. He said it was something his meatsuit's father had done and he thought it would be a good idea," Cas said clinically, as if he were talking about someone else entirely.

"How many times?" Dean asked, looking at Castiel's back. It was like a game, spot the unbruised skin. Where it wasn't black and blue there was an angry red welt or an open gash.

"I lost count at 37," Cas said softly.

Dean took a moment to let that comment sink in before he started on Cas's back, he needed to wait for his unbridled anger towards Abaddon to dissipate. He cleaned the open wounds and bandaged them and then started to wrap Cas's ribs. That was almost too much for Castiel to bear. He had stoically sat through all of the stinging antiseptic iodine and the stitches but his ribs agonised him so much he almost passed out when Dean did the first loop of gauze. After a couple more wraps, he grabbed Dean's hand.

"Please…Dean…it's too much," he gasped out between breaths. Cas's face was so pale, the dark bruises stood out dramatically and he hunched forward, an arm on his ribs.

"Cas, I need to do this," Dean said soothingly. "I know it hurts, me and Sammy, we've both been right where you are. Ribs hurt like a _bitch_, but I _need _to do this, otherwise you run the risk of breaking them. I'll be gentle, I promise, and after I'm done, I'll give you some pain meds, okay?"

Cas stared deep into Dean's eyes with his one unmarred one, trying desperately to ascertain why his friend would put him through such pain. Couldn't Dean see that he'd already suffered? Was this some sort of punishment? Retribution for being fooled by Metatron? How could he, Castiel, have possibly been able to take a different side in that matter?

He had Metatron, the scribe of God himself, in one corner, an angel who had been banished from Heaven, much like Castiel had, wanting supposedly to fix their home. And in the other corner there was Naomi, an angel who ran Heaven with an iron fist – and a drill – who had tortured him, mind-controlled him, tried to push him into killing Dean – the only friend he'd ever had. Who was he supposed to believe?

Was there no margin for error in Dean's eyes? It seemed every time Castiel did something for Dean he ended up in Dean's bad books. He was cut off from Heaven for helping the Winchesters, and was then shunned for not being able to heal Bobby Singer's legs. He stopped Raphael from restarting the Apocalypse and using the brothers as Lucifer and Michael's vessels, and was despised for having absorbed the souls from Purgatory in order to do it. He'd been sent to Purgatory along with Dean when they killed Dick Roman and was brought back by Naomi who'd brainwashed him and drilled into his eyes. Sure he'd managed to finally fight off her influence, but was then shot in the gut by Crowley in the process, his flagging Grace had dumped him in the middle of the cold highway, Dean had almost run him over, and still, he got the cold shoulder.

How could he ever possibly please Dean? Every which way he turned he failed in the older Winchester's estimation. Maybe that's why they hadn't come for him sooner. It had only been a week but Cas had been starting to think that they'd never come for him. That he was going to die in that room with Abaddon. And when Abaddon left and the demons only started giving Crowley food, he thought he was going to starve in there, alone and freezing. Maybe that was his penance. His punishment, handed down by Dean Winchester, was to starve and die in atonement for his sins.

"Cas? Cas, you with me?"

Dean's voice brought the former angel out of his thoughts and he looked up into Dean's face, a silent tear trickling down his face. He quickly dropped his head; he didn't want Dean to see him so weak. He didn't need another reason for Dean to hate him.

"Cas, hey, what's wrong?" Dean placed his hand on Cas's arm and Castiel flinched horribly. Dean swiftly withdrew his hand. "I'm sorry, Cas, what is it? Was it something I said?"

With his head still almost resting on his chest, Castiel murmured something in response that Dean couldn't hear. "What? I didn't catch that." he asked, gently.

"I…I thought you'd never…never come for me," Cas said, a little louder.

"Oh, Cas, no, why would you think that?" Dean said, his heart slowly breaking into jagged little pieces.

"I thought…I thought by leaving me…leaving me there…in that room, it was…you were…" Cas swallowed hard. He didn't know if he should even voice his concerns. Would it offend Dean? Would Dean send him back?

"I was what?" Dean pressed, quietly, his voice remaining calm and neutral.

"It was your…way of making me make amends…for what I'd done…everything I'd done," Cas finally continued. "That's…that's why I thought…you'd never come."

"Cas, how could you think that?" Dean's voice was still calm and soothing but his words turned angry in Castiel's exhausted mind. "Of course we'd come for you. You're family."

At that, Castiel looked up and met Dean's eyes. They were glassy and tears had left salty tracks running down his face. The hope clouded by fear in Cas's unmarked blue eye made Dean feel even worse.

"You really mean that?" Cas asked.

"Yeah, I really mean that, Cas," Dean replied. He wiped his eyes with the back of his shirtsleeve and swallowed the rest of his tears; he still had work to do. "Now, I need to finish wrapping your ribs. Do you think you can manage?"

Cas took a deep breath and nodded, a weight lifted from his shoulders. He took his hand off Dean's so that the older Winchester could resume wrapped the gauze around his excruciating injuries.

"Don't feel bad if you want to cry out, okay?" Dean said softly. Cas only nodded again and Dean started pulling the gauze around the other man's torso. Every time it tightened around the bruising on his left side, he felt Cas's breath hitch in pain. When he was winding the last few loops the unbearable hurt caused Cas to gasp. Finally Dean taped it down and Cas let out a trembling breath.

"Okay, that's done now, you alright?" Dean asked.

Cas nodded silently again, focusing on keeping his breathing even, any laboured breath would irritate his ribs he'd rapidly found out.

"We'll start on your face then," Dean continued. He grabbed a small towel and dipped the edge into an antiseptic and water-filled bowl and dabbed the bloody patch of hair at Cas's temple. The water in the bowl was soon red with blood but the cut had long ago started to clot and was already beginning to heal somewhat.

"Well, thank your lucky stars, you don't need stitches there," Dean said, trying to raise Cas's spirits a bit. It was no use though, the former angel was well entrenched in his current depressed state. Dean couldn't really argue with him, he'd been through Hell these last few days. Dean carefully wiped away the dried blood from Castiel's nose and mouth and grimaced. The bruises stood out even more starkly on Cas's face now that the dried blood was gone.

"There's nothing I can really do about those bruises," Dean said. "They all look a couple days old. Could've iced them right then and there, but I doubt those demons would've helped you out at all. We're just going to have to wait til they go down, alright?"

Cas just nodded again. His pain and exhaustion was catching up on him. He'd been surviving the last few days on little food and adrenaline and now he really needed to just sleep. It was an odd feeling for him. A very human feeling. He barely noticed Dean unwrapping the fabric from his wrists, cleaning the cuts and rope burns and re-wrapping them in clean bandages.

"Alright, just take these and then sleep it off for a while," Dean suggested. He handed two white tablets and a glass of water to Cas who promptly downed them. "Just sleep like that for now, it's going to hurt you too much to put a shirt on."

Cas wearily climbed into the bed with only a couple gasps and flinches from injuries bumped and knocked. Dean made sure the central heating would stay on in the room and then moved to the door, dimming the overhead light somewhat.

"Sam's feeling fine for the moment so he's going to stay up, but I'll be right next door sleeping if you need anything," Dean said.

"Dean?" came a rough voice from the bed.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Anytime Cas, that's what family's for," Dean smiled, and closed the door over.

{A.N. Okay, there's your daily dose of Castiel hurt/comfort hope you liked! Review, review!}


	5. Witches Sons & Injured Ones

{A.N. Hey guys, once again, this story is just not leaving me alone! I have to write it! Maybe I'll keep going with it and when Supernatural starts back up again in October, we'll all see if any of my predictions come true. I'm so convinced they dropped Cas off in Washington State, just total gut instinct haha! As always, thank you so much for your kind reviews! Thegirlwiththekey: It was pretty hard to write that last chapter, I did want to make it a really emotional moment for both Cas and Dean, and just the thought of them having left him there as penance was too good of a plot bunny to give up. CaptainAlias: Yeah I'm hoping Crowley might just work his way into the Winchesters inner circle, I mean, son of a witch is a pretty good advantage. Also thanks for the spellcheck, I don't have a Beta or anything so I'm surprised there's only been one so far! Wicked R: Here's hoping I can keep up this unbelievable pace! the-poette: intrigue is the whole idea, glad you like! Enjoy this bit!}

**Chapter 5: Witches Sons & Injured Ones**

That night Dean barely slept a wink. He tossed and turned for hours, before getting up and pouring himself three glasses of whiskey. That made his eyes close, and stay closed, but it didn't keep the dreams away. Or the nightmares.

In his first dream, he and Sam walked into the abandoned factory to find it swarming with demons. But it was almost as if he and his brother were invisible. The demons stared right through them and they weren't stopped in their search for Castiel. But when they got to his cell, they were too late. His broken and bloodied body was heaped in a corner, his dead eyes staring out lifelessly, the vibrant colour gone and instead Dean stared into murky steel grey irises, nothing like the startling blue of the real Castiel's eyes. When Dean's heart started to race at the sight of his friend, beaten and damaged, lying on the floor like a pile of unwanted scraps, he thanked God for the small voice that told him that Cas was alright, he was lying in the room next to him.

In the next dream he was a fly on the wall in the room next door. Cas was sleeping fitfully in the bed, his own mind conjuring up mental torture for him with ease. Dean heard the sound of wood and old hinges creaking and he turned to see the bedroom door wide open with Abaddon standing in the doorway. She walked silently into the room, flipping a knife in her hand. Try as he might, Dean was unable to move from his position and no amount of shouting at her, telling her to _stop _would make her turn and listen. Instead she strolled up casually to the head of the bed and sat down on the mattress. Cas didn't wake up but he still seemed to sense she was there, frowning in his sleep. She brought the knife up to his throat and held it steady. Then, Abaddon looked straight at Dean. "Say when," she said with a smile.

Dean jerked awake at that one and checked the time. Six in the morning. He decided he'd had enough sleep. He grabbed a few essentials and had a quick shower, came back to his room and dressed quietly in jeans, boots, a t-shirt and a flannel. Something occurred to him at that point and he rifled through his things before he found a white shirt, a black jacket, Bobby's old grey trench coat and a pair of socks. They were hanging in the 'FBI Agent' section of his closet.

Gently, he opened up the door to Castiel's room. Cas was nothing like in his dream. He was sleeping so soundly he barely moved. For a moment Dean thought he had slipped away in the night until he saw his chest rising and falling steadily and let out the breath he'd been holding. He piled the shirt, socks, coat and jacket on top of Cas's pants – they hadn't suffered as badly as his other clothes – and left the pile of clothes in a spot where Cas could easily spot them. Cas had been wearing the same outfit for the last four years, Dean assumed he liked it. Or had at least gotten damn used to it.

Dean went back into his own room and grabbed a pad of paper and a pen. 'When you feel up to it, get dressed and come into the main room. There'll be breakfast waiting. Leave the shower for a couple days – don't want to ruin your bandages.' He assumed that since Castiel's Grace had always magically healed him, he wasn't acquainted with the proper care of wounds. Dean really didn't want to have to re-wrap Cas's ribs. That first time had been bad enough for both of them.

He ambled out into the main room of the Men of Letters to see Sam sitting at the table, a book propped open in front of him and a fruit salad next to it.

"Fruit salad? Seriously? Could you be more girly?" Dean asked, smirking.

"You're in a good mood," Sam said, looking up from the book.

"Hey, we got our angel back," Dean said happily over his shoulder as he walked towards the kitchen.

"Bring me back coffee!" Sam called after him. As he watched Dean head off, he allowed himself a smile. Yeah, they _had _gotten their angel back, _and_ in more or less one piece.

Dean started breakfast. He figured he'd be feeding himself, Cas _and _Crowley so he began with toast. He popped down two at a time while he pulled out eggs and bacon from the huge industrial-sized fridge. Soon the kitchen was full of the sizzling sounds of a hot breakfast and smelled divine. Once everything was almost done, he poked his head out to see Sam trying his hardest to have a civil conversation with Crowley so he sighed and resignedly placed eggs, bacon and toast on two plates, along with coffee and mugs on a tray, to bring out. The third plate was left in the warm oven so it stayed hot until Cas reappeared.

When he walked back out to the main room, Sam was still sitting at the table, but the book was put aside and he was staring intently at his laptop. Crowley was nowhere to be seen.

"Where'd Mr Soul go?" Dean asked, putting the two plates down along with cutlery.

Sam gestured to the library, the area that branched off the main room. "On the phone," Sam said. "Hey, come look at this. Garth just emailed it to me."

Dean cast a forlorn look at his breakfast but walked behind Sam's chair all the same. On the laptop's screen was CCTV footage of the main street in Rock Rapids, Iowa, two days ago, according to the time stamp on the video.

"What am I looking at?" Dean asked.

"Just watch, you'll see it," Sam replied.

The video was uneventful for a few moments then a man walked down the street and Dean spotted him a mile off as being slightly odd. He was dressed in a plain grey suit, white shirt, black tie and looked relatively normal. But as he moved along the footpath his body language said anything but normal. He seemed amazed at everything. A mixture of awe and fear was present in his actions. He moved off-camera and, after a few clicks from Sam, they caught up with him about a block down about to pass an alley. As he did so, black smoke billowed out and overcame him. The black smoke forced its way into his mouth and down his throat and there, before Dean, was a demon with his new meatsuit. The demon then straightened up the suit jacket, tore off the tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of the shirt and walked off again.

"Was that…"

"An angel getting jumped by a demon?" Sam interjected. "Yep."

"I was gonna say _ex_-angel, but yeah," Dean said. He sat back down and started on his breakfast. "I don't get it though."

"What's there to get, you knucklehead," Crowley's voice rang out as he strolled back to the main room and sat down in front of his own bacon and eggs. "Ah, cooked breakfast. Knew there was a reason I checked into this dump."

Sam shot him a withering glare but Crowley ignored him and tucked into his food. "All those thousands of ex-angels, they're perfect fodder for Abaddon's new army," he said through a mouthful of toast and bacon. "Just had one of my minions call me with the news."

"Why the hell does Abaddon need an army?" Sam asked.

"Because she's taking over my position," Crowley grumbled. "I can't figure out how I feel about that though. On the one hand I'm kind of happy because being King of Hell isn't, I suppose, an occupation that fills you with pride is it?"

"Could've fooled me," Dean muttered under his breath.

Crowley chose to ignore him and continued, "But I did kind of like it at the time. And I wouldn't mind still doing it. But, you know, times they are"-

"Enough about your feelings, Crowley, we really don't care," Dean said, taking another bite of breakfast. "Why does Abaddon need an army to take over your old job? You've clearly stepped down."

"True, but there are still followers out there, they're a little old-school, don't like a woman being top dog. They'd prefer soulful old me instead," Crowley explained. "So, she needs her own little militia to make sure they don't get all protective. I couldn't care less to be honest though, being King of Hell was tiring."

"Well are they jumping all the angels?" Dean asked. He gestured towards the hallway which led to the bedrooms with an egg-covered knife. "Should we be worried?"

"Short answer: yes," Crowley said, "long answer: I have no freakin' clue you idiot, do I look like I'm part of the inner circle?"

Dean huffed out an angry breath and went back to his breakfast. They sat in silence for a moment before a shuffling sound emanated from the hallway. All three of them looked up to see Castiel limping down the hallway towards them, his face a mixture of intense concentration and pain. He wavered slightly and bumped against the wall, crying out in hurt and clutching his injured ribs.

Both Winchesters were on their feet in seconds and Dean was at Castiel's side in mere moments supporting his friend towards the table. Cas had put on the clothes Dean had set out for him but they did next to nothing to improve his general appearance. His full lips were still split in three places, the bruises on his face had faded slightly to a yellowish-blue colour, his bruised eye wasn't as swollen as it had been and was bloodshot, making the blue iris look even more arresting than usual. The hand-shaped bruises on his neck had darkened though, they must have been brand new when Dean and Sam had found him.

Dean helped Cas over to a chair at the table and just as he got him situated above it, Cas's knees buckled and he collapsed into the chair, his ribs brushing the edge of the table. He gasped and squeezed his eyes shut, his face twisted in agony as he tried to overcome the sensations.

"Cas, you alright?" Dean asked, his hands still resting lightly on Cas's shoulders, giving him comfort – or so Dean hoped.

But Cas was silent for a few minutes more, his head bowed, concentrating on levelling out his breathing. He'd been in a similar situation before, for instance when he and Uriel had come for Anna, that first time he'd met Alastair when the demon wasn't in Hell, and he'd tried to exorcise him from his own vessel. That had been uncomfortable, his Grace pushing at the boundaries of his vessel deliberately was not as fun as the demon seemed to think it was.

Then there was the time that Uriel had forced him to ask Dean to torture Alastair for information on who was killing the angels. Alastair had escaped from the Devil's Trap and had beaten Dean to within an inch of his life, with Cas intervening just in time to save his friend. Cas had been shocked when he'd stabbed Alastair with Ruby's knife, only for the demon to pull it out and turn his fists onto the angel. Slamming Cas onto the hook in the wall had hurt, and tugging him downwards so that it ripped the skin, bones and muscles in his back had hurt more but it was nothing compared to the thrashing he'd endured both at the hands and words of his brother Uriel. The fact that his own brother thought Cas would betray Dean and Sam for Lucifer sickened him.

Cas heard Dean's voice but it sounded so far away and his ribs still felt like they were simultaneously frozen and on fire. Honestly he could barely breathe. He tried to remember other times he had felt this bad, tried to take his mind off the matter. There was the time he'd been forcibly ripped from his own vessel and taken to Heaven for 'reconditioning'. He hadn't told Sam or Dean anything about that time and, truth be told, he probably never would. They wouldn't be able to comprehend the hurt that those angels had laid on him back then for getting too close to his charges.

He didn't remember anything about the first time he died. He was there, and then he wasn't and then he was there again. What he did remember was Gabriel beating the ultimate crap out of him every time he tried to save the brothers when they were locked into his brother's 'own idiot box' and archangels hit _hard_. Or there was the time he'd had to send the boys back to the 1970's to stop Anna. That time he'd been coughing up his own lungs.

Finally the pain in his ribs started to subside. When before he'd felt like his head was covered in cotton wool, now sounds started to drift closer and closer to his ears. He opened his eyes to see a somewhat blurry Dean in the chair next to him with the most concerned, worried expression on his face. He looked up and as his vision focused he saw that Crowley and Sam were also watching him with similar anxious looks on their faces.

"Cas, speak to me, you there?" Dean asked, his voice breaking slightly in distress.

"Why is Crowley here?" Cas finally asked, his voice much rougher than usual, probably due to the bruising on his throat.

"Nice to see you too Cas, I got invited as well you know," Crowley snapped back at him.

"Crowley's here because…" Sam started but drifted off. "Actually I don't know why Crowley's here. Maybe cause Abaddon wants his head on a plate? Oh. Wait, that's not really a bad thing is it?" he finished, staring pointedly at the demon.

"Oh aren't you getting all witty in your old age, Moose," Crowley replied gruffly.

"Cas, are you alright?" Dean said, ignoring the bickering between his brother and Crowley. He placed his hand lightly on Cas's elbow and didn't miss the barely hidden tremble that ran through the other man's arm.

Cas looked down at Dean's hand and then up at Dean, locking eyes. "No, but I hope to be sometime soon. How long does this take to fix?" he asked, gesturing at his body.

"Uh…" Dean raised his gaze to his brother. "About six weeks yeah?"

"Six weeks for what?" Sam questioned.

"Cracked ribs."

"Yeah, about that," Sam replied nodding, before turning to Crowley. "Although you could be some help."

"What are you talking about Moose?"

"You _are_ a son of a witch aren't you? Surely you could pull some spell out of your ass to help poor Cas heal a little quicker," Dean stated. "Earn your keep?"

Crowley looked from one brother to the other then finally to Cas and took in the ill-fated ex-angel's discoloured face, his hunched posture, the arm wrapped protectively around his battered midsection.

"He can barely breathe," Dean added. Crowley watched as Castiel did in fact struggle with his breaths as the pain in his ribs was dropping off.

"Oh screw you both," Crowley finally said. "Pen. Paper. Now. I'll write you a damn list."

Sam passed him a pen and a paper and he began scribbling things down. Meanwhile Castiel felt a terrible empty ache in his stomach. A sharp pain made him gasp and double over even more.

"Cas, what's wrong?" Dean asked, his attention now firmly placed on their wounded friend.

"I…I think I'm hungry," Cas surmised. "Your note mentioned breakfast?" he asked, trying hard but failing to keep a pleading note out of his voice.

Dean jumped to his feet again and jogged away from the main room and towards the kitchen, Cas assumed. Seconds later he was back, holding the plate with oven mitts.

"Here's some bacon, eggs and toast. Don't eat it too fast otherwise you'll give yourself a stomach ache," Dean said placing it in front of Cas. As Castiel reached for the fork, he added, "And don't touch the plate it's been sitting in the oven, it'll be hot." Castiel nodded his understanding.

"Look at you all Martha Stewart," Crowley remarked, handing his list to Sam.

"Thank you Dean," Castiel said before eating, completely disregarding Crowley's comment. "For everything."

"Anytime Cas, like I said last night, you're family," Dean replied. "And I'll never forgive myself for letting you rot in there for a whole week."

"We're just glad that we've got you now," Sam said, with a sympathetic smile. Another email arrived in his inbox and his laptop let out a 'ding'. He opened it up and watched the attached video. "It's another one from Garth. This time in Natchez."

"Another angel?" Dean asked.

"What about them?" Cas queried, his tone betraying the worry he felt for his brethren.

"Abaddon's turning them into her personal little slave army," Crowley said. "Jumping their bones with black smoke every chance she gets." He thought for a moment then added, "Bitch."

"She's what?" Cas cried, his exclamation once again aggravating his ribs, causing unwanted tears. He turned his glassy eyes on Dean. "Is Crowley telling the truth?"

"Yeah, he is," Dean said. "It looks like she's been busy"-

"When she wasn't getting with you that was," Crowley interjected.

"Shut up Crowley!" Sam and Dean said in unison.

"Abaddon's running for President of downstairs," Dean explained. "And in order to do that she's recruiting. She's summoning new demons up and sending them to use the angels as meatsuits."

"She needs hundreds of soldiers to rearrange Hell down there," Crowley continued. "And if people, ordinary people with families and jobs, suddenly all started disappearing, all you hunters"- he gestured to the brothers –"would be getting involved. And then she'd be starting a war on two fronts. So, she's picking up where you lot left off. The only people who care about all those ex-angels, are all the other ex-angels. I don't know how she's figuring them out but she is"-

"She already knows us all," Castiel said, his hoarse voice silencing everyone. "She used to be one of us."

{A.N. Oooh, gotta love a reveal cliffy! I'm already starting the next part, shouldn't be too long! Review, review!}


	6. Cooked Breakfasts & Reckless Spells

{A.N. Hey guys, sorry for the long wait, promise it won't happen again! Got a little sidetracked with my new fic, To Save An Angel. Here is Chapter 6, hope you guys like it! Again, thank you so much for the kind reviews! Wicked R: glad you're loving it! Surprises are always a good thing haha! lil ole me: hey thanks so much, that really means a lot!}

**Chapter 6: Cooked Breakfasts & Reckless Spells**

"Okay, what?" Sam asked, incredulously.

Dean who had finished his breakfast, pushed his plate away and stared at Castiel. "_Abaddon _was an _angel_?" he questioned.

"Yes Dean, she"-

"Seriously?"

At that Cas turned his still-exhausted gaze to the older Winchester. "Yes Dean. What part of that don't you understand?" he asked, weariness and pain making his voice harsher than it normally was.

"Uh, sorry Cas, I'm just trying to understand here," Dean apologised, looking uncomfortable.

"No, Dean, I'm sorry, I…shouldn't have snapped like that," Cas said, his voice returning to the timid tones it had accrued when in Abaddon's captivity. His humanity was making him very aware of the situation he was in right now. And it was a precarious one. Dean and Sam had rescued him and Dean had patched him up, yes, but one wrong move and he could be on the outer again. He'd been there far too much when he was still an angel, and he didn't think he could survive it as a mortal human. "It wasn't my place," he added.

"Can we end this moment now," Crowley grimaced. "Wingless over here was just telling me something _I_ didn't know and I'm kind of intrigued. Please, Castiel, do go on."

Cas cleared his throat, his delicate fingers raising to gently massage the bruises on his neck – they made talking that much harder. "Abaddon used to be an angel, in fact an extremely high-ranking one. I wouldn't know where she stood in the pecking order, Naomi and her drill has made any memory of that impossible, but she did the same thing as Lucifer. She was intent on destruction. I believe the old Hebrew word for destruction is, in fact, Abaddon. She was cast out of Heaven not long after Lucifer and became his first Knight of Hell."

Sam leaned back in his chair, absorbing the information. "So that would explain how she knows where to send the demon smoke wouldn't it?"

Cas nodded. "She knows all of us. Better than we know ourselves. She's as powerful as the archangels. She used to be one." Silence reigned then Cas nervously asked, "Will she come here?"

"No," Dean said immediately making Sam glare at him with a look that clearly said, _Don't promise anything_. "She won't get anywhere near this place if I have anything to do with it. Crowley's going to do some spell which will make you better"-

"A _little_ better," Crowley interrupted. "I can't work miracles anymore."

"We're going to fix you up and then we're going to try to stop Abaddon."

"That's your plan, Dean?" Sam asked. "We'll stop Abaddon and that'll be the end of it? What about the trials?"

"You said so yourself that Abaddon told you never to go anywhere near them again, and, even if you do, you die, so I won't be letting you finish them," Dean replied sternly. "Look if we keep cutting the head off the snake"- he turned to Crowley –"no offence, then they'll be a leaderless rabble of demons with no end game, no big plans, nothing. We've done it before, we killed Azazel, Lilith – even though that was kind of a bad move at the time – we sent Lucifer back to his cage, Crowley's no use to them, and now we've got Abaddon. It's just the next big bad. And we'll kill it. And the next one. And the one after."

"Do you know something we don't?" Crowley asked. "You seem awfully confident. Or maybe you're just completely ignorant of Abaddon's power."

"I understand how powerful she is, Crowley. But we managed to take you down, didn't we?" Dean smirked. "Look one thing at a time. Cas needs help. Sam you got Crowley's list?"

"Yep, I'll get this and you hold down the fort," Sam said, jumping to his feet. Dean was once again overwhelmed with gratitude for whatever had allowed his baby brother to bounce back from the damage the trials had inflicted. "I shouldn't be too long…" he added, his voice trailing off as he started reading the list. "On second thought, where the _hell _am I meant to get the blood of a virgin vampire?"

"The what?" Dean asked.

Crowley wrote down another note and handed it to Sam. "This guy. Owes me a favour, big time. You tell him that I'll let him off the hook and won't come knocking in, what is it now, six years and four months."

"Will you actually?" Sam asked. "Let him out of whatever deal he made?"

"He asked for twenty virgins, you want me to let him out of his deal or what?"

"Nah, he can keep it," Dean replied. "Off you go, Sam, Cas needs that spell."

Castiel looked up at Sam and nodded grimly. "Thank you Sam."

"Don't mention it, Cas." And with that, Sam grabbed the keys to the Impala and was out the door.

The room was silent once Sam had left, the only sound was Cas slowly eating his breakfast. He was in such bad shape at the moment, everything hurt. Even eating pulled on the cuts on his lip. Finally he pushed the plate away.

"Cas, you've barely eaten any of it," Dean said, pushing the plate back towards Castiel.

"Dean, I can't eat anymore," Cas said quietly.

"I want you to eat at least half of that," Dean replied, keeping his tone gentle.

"If Castiel wants to pick up where those demons left off, why stop him?" Crowley said.

"Honestly, one more word and I swear to God, I will finish that damn trial," Dean threatened.

"Ooh, I'm shaking in my boots," Crowley said. "You're just lucky I don't have anywhere else to be at the moment."

"We're lucky?" Dean repeated doubtfully.

"Yeah, _you're _lucky. Otherwise, you could kiss little Cas here goodbye."

"Shut. Up."

Dean turned to see Castiel staring daggers at the demon. "What he said," Dean added.

Cas took a deep breath, wincing as the movement tugged on various injuries and looked back at Dean. "I'm sorry, I just can't finish it, Dean," Cas apologised, eyes downcast.

"That's alright, I guess. Maybe have some more soon. Do you want to lie down?" Dean asked.

Cas thought about the idea for a moment then nodded. He _was _feeling completely drained. Which was strange, he thought, considering he'd been sleeping since Dean had finished patching him up and he'd only now been awake for an hour or so. Being human was tiring, he decided. He tried to get to his feet and gasped unbelievingly at the intense amount of pain stemming from his numerous injuries.

"Hold on a minute, Cas, let me help you," Dean said, getting to his feet. He put Cas's right arm, the one which wasn't still healing from a dislocated shoulder, over his own shoulders and held onto Cas's waist and the two of them made it up. Dean continued supporting his friend down the hallway and back to his room. When they had finally reached his bed, Dean lowered Cas gently down and the former angel hunched over, focusing on his breathing.

"Cas? You alright?"

"Yeah…just…catching my…breath," he said in between gulps of air. "Being human…"

"Sucks?" Dean offered.

"Hurts," Cas replied with a short humourless laugh.

"Yeah, it does," Dean agreed. "But there's other things that are pretty good about it too. Like, free will for example. And you don't have to fight your own family for it. Most of the time anyway. And then there's sex. And chocolate cake. And driving around, listening to my baby purr. I promise you'll like it."

"I haven't liked it so far, Dean."

"Yeah but you've just had a bad week."

Castiel looked up at him, his eyebrows raised.

"Okay, a really, really, ridiculously, _horrible _week," Dean amended.

"That's more like it," Cas said, monotonously.

"But here's hoping this spell Crowley knows will help," Dean said, but even while he was saying it, his voice betrayed the doubt that he felt for the current plan of action.

"You don't think it will," Cas said. It wasn't a question.

"I don't know what will happen. Crowley is technically still a demon, but then he's also technically 90% cured, so, technically, he almost has a soul. Which means he cares. And as well, Crowley knows he's persona non grata in Hell so where we he go if he screwed us over?"

"I suppose. I just…can't bring myself to trust him," Cas said, looking up at Dean and the older Winchester could see traces of fear hidden in the blue depths of his eyes. "But…I know I'm of no use to you like this."

"Cas, don't talk about yourself like that," Dean admonished, keeping his voice gentle. "It doesn't matter to us that you're 'no use', what matters is that you're not in so much pain you can barely stand up on your own. _That's _what matters. Family means something to me and Sam. It means you don't just abandon people when they're of 'no use'. You take care of them, you protect them. Just because you're not hopped up on angel mojo and your ribs are bruised like hell, it doesn't mean we'll just leave you to die. I promise you that, Cas."

Cas just nodded in response, processing Dean's words. "Thank you," he finally said.

"Anytime. Now why don't you get some rest and hopefully when Sam gets back we can do this spell, alright?" Cas nodded again and Dean helped him out of a few layers of clothing and under the covers before dimming the light and closing the door over again.

* * *

A few hours later, Sam returned with two plastic bags full of the ingredients Crowley needed for his spell. It was mainly just rare spices and herbs, but there were a couple of voodoo things that he'd had to trawl around looking for as well as the virgin vampire blood. Crowley mixed the ingredients in a large bowl, drew a pentagram filled with unusual glyphs on the main table and then grabbed Dean's arm.

"What are you – ah!" Dean cried out as Crowley dragged a knife across his forearm and twisted his arm so that the blood dripped into the bowl. "A little warning next time would be nice," he grumbled while Sam tied a bandana around the fresh wound.

"Sure thing, Deano," Crowley smirked. "And now we need our favourite little wingless angel."

Dean stood up and walked to the bedrooms. When he got to Castiel's room, he opened the door softly so the old wood wouldn't creak. Inside he saw Cas fast asleep, dreaming. His brow furrowed and he made a small sound. Dean walked up next to the bed and crouched down next to him.

"Hey, Cas?"

Cas frowned again and murmured something. It sounded suspiciously like 'no'.

"Cas? Wake up, we need you now for the spell," Dean said a little louder. He reached out and gently touched Castiel's shoulder and his friend woke with a start, immediately pushing himself away from Dean, his blue eyes open wide.

"Cas, calm down, it's me," Dean said, holding his hands up so Cas could see them.

Castiel swallowed nervously, steadily calming himself down, before allowing himself to be helped up and down the hallway to where Sam and Crowley were sitting at the main table. He saw the bowl of spices and bones and other oddments situated on the table in the middle of a strange pentagram and shuddered. He was absolutely not okay with this idea but if it was what Dean and Sam wanted then he saw no other option. He _had _to go along with it. Otherwise he could find himself cast out. Despite what Dean had said and kept saying, the past spoke for itself. On more than one occasion he had done something that, in the eyes of the Winchesters, was morally wrong. And every time that happened he was cut off from them. Ignored. Reproached.

He could not let that happen now that he was human.

"Just sit down here," Dean said, guiding Cas to the chair in front of the bowl and pentagram. He lightly helped the ex-angel down into the chair and Crowley walked around so that he was standing next to Cas.

"Okey dokey Cas. You just sit tight while I mumble some Latin and draw a sigil on you and that should help you heal a little. Oh and I need a touch of your blood," Crowley said, seizing Cas's left arm and jerking it towards the bowl. It aggravated the injured tendons in his previously dislocated shoulder and Cas gasped at the sudden pain.

"Watch out, Crowley!" Dean shouted. "His shoulder was only just dislocated yesterday!"

"Oh yeah, oops," Crowley said, dropping Cas's arm, who hugged it to his body trying to push back the nauseous feelings that had suddenly overtaken him. "Other arm please."

Castiel held out his right arm, hand shaking somewhat and Crowley once again dragged a knife over his forearm, making Cas flinch. His blood dripped into the bowl mixing with Dean's and all of the other ingredients. Crowley let his arm go and Cas scowled at him.

"Yeah, whatever, you'll be thanking me later," Crowley said in response. He started to recite Latin phrases and the bowl started to smoke. The blood-red smoke swirled up into the room from the bowl while Crowley finished the incantation. Then he plunged his hand in, brought it back out, ripped the top of Castiel's t-shirt apart and drew a symbol on his bare chest.

The result was instantaneous as Castiel screamed in intense pain, tears welling and then spilling from his eyes. Dean and Sam jumped up to their feet immediately just as the former angel slumped in his chair, unconscious.

Dean turned on Crowley, anger written all over his face and venomously asked, "What the _hell _did you just do to him?"

{A.N. Ooh another hectic cliffy! I am literally the worst person haha! If you like where it's going review! Tell me what you think! Always open to constructive criticism/narrative ideas}


	7. Painful Healing & Dangerous Plotting

{A.N. Sorry about the horrendous wait! I'm a terrible person and started two fics in the same week! And got a little obsessed with the other one, but here is the long-awaited seventh chapter! Thanks again to all your wonderful reviews! Xreme619: hurtCas with protectiveDean is just so addictive right! If you want to read To Save An Angel, it's already up so just check it out on my page or search for it (I've since realized there's another fic out there called the same thing! Oops! Hadn't seen it before I started writing!) so yeah check it out if you like this one, although it is AU and Destiel...Guest: Hey thanks! No worries, go ahead and put it in that community and no, there won't be any slash in this one. : yeah I do like my twists. And cliffy's haha! FeveredDreamscape: I know! I'm horrible! I'm sorry! But here's more! CaptainAlias: Garth may pop up sometime in the future...}

**Chapter 7: Painful Healing & Dangerous Plotting**

"What have you done to him? Tell me right now, or I swear to God, I will _cure _it out of you!" Dean shouted at Crowley as Sam rushed over to the now-unconscious Castiel, checking his pulse and breathing.

"I did exactly what you told me to, you knucklehead," Crowley sneered. "I healed him. Somewhat anyway. I just neglected to tell you that the spell kinda hurts."

"Define 'kinda hurts'," Dean demanded, slowly pulling out Ruby's knife.

"Hmmm, let me see, imagine being burned alive whilst being ripped apart by hellhounds," Crowley offered. "But, trust me, works like a charm. Still remember the first time mumsy laid it on me. Oh boy, that was bad. He'll probably be unconscious until at least tomorrow afternoon."

"You son of a bitch," Dean snarled angrily, brandishing the knife. He stalked around the table until he was face to face with Crowley and brought the knife up under his chin. "You _neglected _to tell us that? You saw how much Cas has gone through and you put him through even more agony!"

"To _heal him_," Crowley insisted. "I guarantee that when he wakes up tomorrow, all his open wounds will have closed up and his ribs won't be anywhere near as bad as they are now."

"And mentally will he be okay?" Dean asked. "He thought we were helping him, goddamnit!"

"You _are _helping him, you moron," Crowley maintained, prodding Dean in the chest. "Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind."

"Not with Cas! He won't get it! He'll think we're continuing the torture," Dean replied. He turned to Sam who looked up at him with a questioning look. "Abaddon must have fed him a bunch of lies while he was there about us. He thought we abandoned him there _on purpose_. That we didn't come for him immediately because of what he'd done. He practically blames himself for getting into that situation."

Sam shook his head sadly. He and Dean hadn't had a moment to themselves to debrief after they'd rescued Cas, and, reluctantly, Crowley, from the warehouse in Missouri. So Sam had no idea about how Castiel was feeling about the whole thing.

"He blames himself? That's ridiculous," Sam said exasperatedly.

"Not really, he's been fed all that 'penance' crap from upstairs for millennia. He thinks that we left him with Abaddon so he could 'make amends'. He still thinks he's of 'no use' to us. That's the only reason he let Crowley do this stupid spell I'm pretty sure," Dean said, running his hands over his face.

"He thinks he's worthless to us?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, he doesn't have his angel mojo and he's all banged up, can hardly walk, so, yeah, he thinks he's pretty much worthless to the cause," Dean replied. "Come on, let's get him back to his room. Tomorrow afternoon you reckon?" Dean asked Crowley, his anger slowly dissipating. If Crowley's spell worked, he supposed he'd have to thank him, as hard as that sounded.

"I can't see him waking up any sooner," Crowley said, grimacing at Castiel's still form.

"Alright, help me out, Sammy," Dean murmured, putting away Ruby's knife and walking back around to Cas. The two brothers half-carried, half-dragged Castiel back to his room and laid him down gently on the bed.

"Do you trust Crowley?" Sam asked his brother.

"About as far as I can throw him, but if Abaddon is planning on sending some demon smoke after Cas then he needed to heal up a little faster, otherwise he'd be too easy for her," Dean replied. "But I'm afraid we've done more bad than good."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Cas, he…he seems different," Dean said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and surveying the passed out ex-angel. "I mean, he's human and all that, but I mean…he's seems, well, depressed."

"I suppose that wouldn't be too big of a jump," Sam said, leaning up against a chest of drawers. "He was tricked by Metatron into expelling all of the angels from Heaven. Then he was abducted and tortured by Abaddon who spun a web of lies for him about us not caring. Now he finds out that Abaddon is sending demons out to use his own family as meatsuits. The guy's gotta feel pretty bad."

"I know but…" Dean sighed. He didn't want to bring this up. He'd never told Sam about 2014 Castiel. That particular Castiel was only six months away now. "Remember when I told you Zachariah zapped me into the future so I could see how it all ended? Trying to get me to say yes to Michael?"

"Uh, yeah, couldn't really forget that one."

"Well, I didn't tell you about Cas."

"What about him?"

"He was organizing orgies, was stoned off his head, popping pills on the way to the big Lucifer showdown"-

"Sounds like a good change," Sam joked quietly.

"No, it wasn't," Dean replied firmly. "He was…broken inside. It was like he couldn't deal with life anymore and just buried himself in a pile of drugs. It was sad to see. I'm just worried this could be one of the things that leads him closer towards that."

"But Dean, we stopped the apocalypse. No Lucifer, no Michael, no Croatoan virus," Sam said, determinedly. "So, by that logic, no junkie Cas."

"Maybe," Dean, murmured, lost in thought. "Maybe not. We better let him sleep it off though."

Sam nodded and the two of them left Castiel in the darkened bedroom, Dean taking one last look at the unconscious man before he closed the door over.

* * *

Crowley was right on the money for once. The next afternoon saw Castiel emerge from the bedroom, partially healed from the spell. The Winchesters looked up as soon as they saw footsteps coming from the hallway into the Men of Letters' main room. Cas looked so much better than when they had first rescued him from that abandoned factory. He didn't seem so pale anymore, the bruises on his face were half-faded and he wasn't unnaturally hunched over due to injured ribs. Dean still helped him over to the table and into a chair before sitting down himself. The three men looked expectantly at Castiel.

"What?" he asked them, nervously, his head cocked to one side.

"Well, how do you feel?" Crowley demanded.

"Much better now," Castiel replied haltingly. He still didn't trust the demon at all. "My ribs still ache but the majority of my wounds have healed."

"Yeah, doesn't quite work all that well on broken bones, but at least your face is almost back to it's pretty self," Crowley smirked.

"Thank you," Cas replied, a little confused. He turned to Dean, "Any news on Abaddon?"

"She's jumped five more angels," Sam said, opening his laptop back up. "At least we think she's behind it."

"What do you mean?" Castiel asked.

"Well, we've been wondering," Dean said, "if maybe Metatron would have anything at all to do with this."

"Metatron? Help Abaddon possess the angels?" Castiel asked, and Dean couldn't help but notice a shudder go through the man. "He could be. He certainly resents every single one of us for forcing him to leave Heaven."

"Why don't you just ask her?" Crowley said.

"What?" Dean and Sam both asked in unison.

"Why. Don't. You. Ask. Her," Crowley repeated, "morons," he added.

"Ask Abaddon?" Sam said.

"Yes! Give the moose a gold star! Why don't you figure out where she'll be and ask her? Or ask one of her mooks," Crowley said. "And while you're at it, surely there's gotta be a section on the 'Angel' tablet that'll tell you how to cram all those angels back in Heaven again."

"We've got Kevin on it," Dean said. "Well, Sammy, where will Abaddon be next?"

Sam turned his laptop around so they could see a map of the contiguous US states. On it were about fifty red dots situated mainly in Illinois, Iowa, Missouri, Indiana, Kentucky and Michigan. They were almost in a perfect square.

"These are all the attacks that Garth and I have been able to find footage of. There's probably been more but these are the ones we know of for sure," Sam said.

"They're all the places where ex-angels have been possessed by demons?" Castiel asked softly.

Sam nodded in response. "I've been plotting them on the map ever since they started. Now it might be a rookie mistake on her part, but I've got to theorise that Abaddon's headquarters are in the centre of that circle."

"Theorise?" Crowley mocked under his breath but was silenced by a glare from both Dean and Sam.

"So, what's in the dead centre?" Dean asked.

"Well I made a rough border focusing on the attacks that were the furthest out," Sam said. "Rock Rapids, Iowa makes up the top left corner, Joplin, Missouri is the bottom left, Nicholasville, Kentucky is the bottom right corner and Ionia, Michigan is the top right corner." Sam typed on the laptop then turned it around so they could clearly see a square forming with the top line technically running straight through Lake Michigan. Sam turned the laptop back around. "And in the middle is…Bloomington, Illinios." The laptop was turned back around so that Crowley, Cas and Dean could see where four lines leading from the four towns joined in the centre.

"Bloomington, Illinios, it is then," Dean said. "We'll leave tomorrow morning. Sound like a plan?"

"Sounds like a suicide mission but sure," Sam said, shrugging. "But, what the hell are we going to do if we meet up with her?"

"Those devil's trap bullets worked like a charm last time," Dean suggested.

"Guess that's what we're doing tonight," Sam replied.

* * *

After carving out a few dozen devil's trap bullets, Sam made a run into town for pizza for their dinner. While Dean was examining the CCTV footage of angels being jumped by demon smoke, Castiel wandered up to him. Dean looked up to see Cas waiting for him to finish what he was doing and was disturbed a little by the ex-angel's new meek behaviour.

"Hey Cas, what's up?" he asked with a smile, wanting the ex-angel to feel comfortable around him. Dean had the distinct impression that Cas still felt like he owed them something for his rescue.

"I just thought…your note the other day said I shouldn't take a shower because of the bandages…" Cas trailed off, looking up at Dean hopefully.

"Oh, that's right. Look how about I check out your wounds, see how healed everything is and then you can have a steam shower. Trust me, they're awesome."

The two of them went back into Castiel's room, ignoring Crowley's joke about them taking some time out to 'bond'. Castiel tugged his borrowed shirt off and Dean unwrapped the bandages from his wrists and from his back and sat behind him on the bed to study the lash marks that the demons had caused.

"Well, damn, would you look at that?" Dean breathed. Cas craned his head looking back at Dean.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Your back, it's still bruised but all of those cuts and gashes, they're gone. The bruises on your ribs are looking much better too. Not all black like before, and your wrists just look a little rope burned," Dean said, astonished.

"So, the spell worked?" Cas asked tentatively.

"Sure did," Dean replied. "Did it…did it hurt a lot?"

Castiel swallowed thickly. He didn't want to say anything negative about it to Dean, considering it had been the older Winchester who had persuaded him to go ahead with it.

"It's okay, you can tell me," Dean added softly.

"It was the worst pain I've felt since becoming human," Castiel whispered. He flinched slightly when Dean's hand came down gently on his shoulder.

"I am so, so sorry you had to go through that Cas," Dean apologised. "And don't go thinking we made you do it so you'd become useful to us again. The only reason I wanted to go ahead with it is because Abaddon is out there. And she's hunting ex-angels. I needed you healed so we could protect you better."

"That's alright, Dean, I understand," Cas said solemnly. He stood up and grabbed a towel that Dean had brought him. "I might take that shower now."

"Last door on the left," Dean directed. "Have a nice long one, relax, nothing can get to you in here, okay?"

Cas nodded then turned back to Dean. "Thank you, again, for everything," he said.

"Anytime, Cas, but go have that shower then we should all get an early night," Dean said, "so we're primed for some Abaddon-hunting tomorrow."

{A.N. Hey guys! Tell me what you think! Hit that review button NOW!}


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